


Tension

by JustSomeoneWhoLikesToWrite



Series: Healing [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Character Study, Clover is incapable of having a conversation with Qrow without flirting or complimenting him, Clover is totally a caring Dom, Developing Relationship, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Face massage, Facial Shaving, Flirting, Flustered Clover, Flustered Qrow, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pampering, Qrow totally has a praise kink, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, scalp massage, sexual tension so thick you can cut it with a knife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21790048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSomeoneWhoLikesToWrite/pseuds/JustSomeoneWhoLikesToWrite
Summary: Clover gives Qrow a shave and things get a little heated.Or a.k.a Qrow learns to indulge himself and Clover really likes to pamper Qrow.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Healing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567423
Comments: 41
Kudos: 583





	Tension

Clover is handsome when he puts all his focus on something.

Well, he’s always handsome in someway, Qrow muses, with those pale green eyes and sharp jaw. Those strong arms and charming smile, rugged in a way that looked refined.

But, when he zeros in on something-

(When he clenches his teeth and narrows his eyes, eyebrows drawn low as he rears his arm back, ready to fling the hook of Kingfisher-)

 _That’s_ when he is absolutely breathtaking.

Just like now, with Clover holding a straight razor up to the light, examining how it glints as he turns it around in his hands. Gaze contemplative and slightly intense as he runs his thumb across the side of the blade. 

Qrow can’t keep his eyes off him.

Setting the razor down on the table with a nod, Clover turns to face him and Qrow can’t help swallowing against nothing, his throat too tight.

“If you can just sit down for me,” Clover says, voice low as his eyes briefly flick over to the couch behind Qrow, his mouth curling in a lopsided grin, “I want to see what I’m working with.”

Qrow nods, wipes his hands on his pants. He starts backing up and Clover follows him, until his back is against the cushions and Clover is looming over him, their knees touching. Qrow licks his lips.

And even though he sees it coming, when Clover places a hand under his chin and the other on his cheek, tilting his head up, he still can’t help the small hitch in his breath.

“So how does it look?” he questions, trying for casual as he raises an eyebrow.

Clover hums, slowly moves Qrow’s head from left to right.

“It’s a little patchy,” he says, lightly running his fingers down Qrow’s cheeks and chin, feeling the hair there, “But short enough that one pass should do it. Relatively easy to do.”

He gently tilts Qrow’s head further back, strokes the back of his fingers against his neck and Qrow shivers, his eyelids fluttering half-closed. Clover’s adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

A faint beeping suddenly sounds from the kitchen but they don’t move, staying like that for several long seconds before Clover sighs, backs up. His fingers drag on the way and Qrow didn’t know he was holding his breath until it rushes out of him in a shaky exhale.

“Sounds like the hot towel is ready,” Clover says, softly smiling down at him, “Stay right there while I get it.”

Qrow groans a little, wipes his hand down his face.

“Is that really _necessary_?” Qrow says and Clover just laughs, halfway to the kitchen already, “Gonna give me the whole spa treatment?”

“It is if you want a clean shave!” Clover calls out, the sound of the microwave opening and closing punctuating the statement.

Qrow just rolls his eyes, settles more comfortably into the couch. Takes deep breaths to calm his racing heart. 

Clover then emerges from the kitchen with a steaming towel in his hands, eyebrows raised in a show of sly amusement.

“It opens the pores, softens the skin and hair,” he says, walking up to Qrow.

Qrow just gives him a skeptical look and Clover winks in response, opening the towel. He leans into Qrow’s space, knees touching again as he crowds him in with his bulk. He guides Qrow to rest his head back against the cushions.

“Plus,” Clover continues, gently wrapping the towel around Qrow’s face, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smoothes the cloth down with his fingers, “It feels _good_.”

And, it _does_ feel good, the heat just shy of burning and Qrow sighs, sinking further into the couch. Clover looks pleased with himself. 

Turning around, Clover begins emptying out the shaving kit, methodically setting things on the living room table. Qrow watches him, anticipation like fizzy bubbles popping in his gut.

When Clover seems satisfied with his set up, he turns to Qrow and removes the towel from his face. Qrow shivers a little as the cool air hits his skin, missing the warmth already. Clover then disappears to the kitchen with the cloth in tow, the sound of the microwave the only thing revealing his intentions.

When he comes back, he walks up to the table and picks up a small bottle, waggles it at Qrow with a smile.

“And what is that?” Qrow asks, squinting at it.

Clover slowly steps around to the back of the couch and Qrow follows him with his eyes, eventually having to tilt his head back against the cushions to continue seeing him. Clover flips the top of the bottle open, pours some of the product into his palm.

“This is a pre-shave conditioner,” Clover finally answers, spreading the cream between his hands, “Helps soften the hair on your face.”

“Didn’t we already do that with the towel though?” Qrow mumbles and Clover just chuckles, shaking his head.

“We did,” Clover agrees, “But this is just an extra step to make the shaving easier.”

And Qrow scoffs, quirks his lips in a tiny smile.

“Yeah, and I feel like you’re making half this shit up, lucky charm,” he accuses, but his tone is light, his posture loose, “It can’t be this big of a deal every time you shave.”

“No, it isn’t,” Clover easily admits, softly grabbing the sides of Qrow’s face to keep his head angled back, “But I do think you need to indulge yourself more often. For all the hard work you’ve done helping us out here in Atlas, you deserve at least one day to relax.”

Qrow’s heart stutters in his chest at that, his stomach flips. His eyes go a little wide. He’s very aware of each point of contact Clover’s fingers have against his jaw.

“I’m going to put this on you now,” Clover says, voice low as he leans forward.

“Okay,” Qrow says, his voice more gravel than timbre, trying for nonchalant but missing it by a mile, “Lay it on me, lucky charm.”

Clover’s eyelids lower a little at that and he steps closer to the couch, until Qrow can feel his body heat like a hot wall against his head. 

“Close your eyes, Qrow,” he says, tone slow and velvety, and Qrow does, letting out an unsteady exhale, “And just try to relax.” 

Clover's fingers rest on Qrow’s sideburns and he firmly drags them across his cheeks, leisurely massage the skin there. His thumbs caress the area above his lips, circling out and down to rub the dip of his chin. His breathes are deep and slow against Qrow’s face, warm and minty.

And, Qrow.... Qrow just _melts_. Nearly purrs when Clover runs his palms down the side of his neck, his fingers fanning out across the column. Sighs from the faint scratch of his callouses against the underside of his chin, the skin hardened from battle and overuse. 

Clover drags his hands up his jaw, slightly stretching his neck and his knuckles graze the bottom of Qrow’s earlobes, the back of the cartilage with his thumbs. Qrow can’t help the groan that half-escapes his mouth and Clover pauses at the sound, fingers stuttering. The breath on Qrow’s face stops, then rushes out hard. 

Clover runs his fingers down Qrow’s throat again but when he brings them up, he doesn’t stop at the edge of his jaw. He keeps going until both of Qrow’s ears are cradled in his fingers, rubbing the shell and lobe in such a slow circle that Qrow fully groans this time, blearily opening his eyes.

“T-thought this was for my beard,” he hiccups, shivering when Clover softly grips his ears and _tugs_.

Clover leans forward and chuckles, a slight growl to it.

“Yes, but I’m here to make you feel good too,” he rumbles, right in his ear and Qrow has to close his eyes again at the tone of his voice, “I promised that I’d take care of you, Qrow.”

Qrow’s heart picks up at that, his mouth goes dry. When Clover moves his hands up to his scalp, blunt nails scratching, his toes curl a little and he has to stifle the whine in his throat. Clover continues like that for some time, rubbing circles into his head and stroking his fingers through his hair, leaving paths that tingle and spark in their wake. Qrow floats between drowsy and hyper-aware, sinking into the couch.

“How do you feel, Qrow?” Clover mumbles, making Qrow’s breath hitch when he curls his hand into a fist, tenderly pulling his hair. 

“Good,” Qrow slurs, fluttering his eyes open, feeling lighter than he has been in a while, “ _Real_ good, lucky charm.”

Qrow looks up at him and he wonders what type of face he’s making, to cause Clover to flare his nostrils like that, a light flush peeking out from beneath his collar. 

The microwave beeps again and Clover lets out a quivering sigh, slowly pulls away. Qrow fights the urge to chase after his hands, a whimper caught on the tip of his tongue. 

“I’ll be right back,” Clover says, voice heavy with promise. 

Qrow nods in response, feeling boneless. He absentmindedly flexes his fingers.

Clover leaves and comes back with the towel steaming again, lips slightly quirked up. When Clover leans into his space, Qrow lazily raises both of his eyebrows.

“Not gonna slap more gunk on my face?” Qrow says, tone teasing and just a bit sleepy.

Clover softly laughs. 

“Only if you want me too,” he replies, winking as he lays the cloth against Qrow’s face again. 

(The heat that gathers around Qrow’s neck has nothing to do with the towel.)

Clover backs up and turns to the table, grabs a tube of shaving cream and a bowl with a brush. He squeezes a small amount of the product into the container and starts swirling it with the broom. His movements are confident and sure, his expression relaxed and slightly contemplative as the cream foams into a lather. Qrow watches him with lidded eyes.

Seemingly happy with the consistency, Clover turns to him and removes the towel, places it across his chest like a bib. His fingers linger on Qrow’s shoulders.

“ _Now_ you’re ready for a shave,” Clover says, patting Qrow’s chest before he starts spinning the brush again, covering it with lather. 

“So soon?” Qrow drawls, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head, “Thought it’d be mornin’ before we got started.”

Clover chuckles and leans forward, eyebrows quirked with a simper on his face.

“That you offering me to stay the night?” he says, tone light and teasing.

Qrow just sends him a flat look, even though his ears go hot. Clover’s eyes crease at the corners.

He begins spreading the cream around Qrow’s cheeks and jaw in steady circles, making sure that each area is completely covered. Pays extra attention to the area above and below his lips, to the dips and curves there. Covers the underside of his chin and neck to finish it.

Placing the items back on the table, Clover picks up the straight razor and unfolds it. Places a hand against Qrow’s temple and leans forward, knees touching as he rests the blade against his skin.

“You ready?” Clover says, looking into his eyes.

And Qrow takes a deep breath, licks his lips. Hears his heart racing in his ears.

“Yes,” he says and closes his eyes.

Clover pulls at the skin beneath his fingers, scrapes at the hair there with short efficient strokes. Wipes the blade clean on the towel across his chest.

(Qrow thinks about how he would have never let someone do to this him before, when he was young and angry and still thought the people in his tribe were good. He would’ve balked at letting someone hold a blade against his throat, to let them get him this vulnerable. 

It was either fight or flight and nothing else, as long as you survived.)

Qrow sinks further into the cushions with a long exhale, lets Clover maneuver his head to the side to get to his other cheek.

(But, this is comfort, to let go and not think, to let someone else take the reigns for a while.

To trust, in the same way that they had each other’s back on the battlefield, ready to protect; in the way Clover had thrown him that active dust crystal, as carefree as the flip he had taken off the edge shortly after.)

“You’re doing so good for me,” Clover mumbles, slowly running the blade up his neck and he curls his hands into fists to not have a reaction to that, “Staying still like this.”

“You’re the one with the blade to my neck,” Qrow retorts, a little breathless as he opens his eyes, taking care not to jostle Clover’s hand.

“Maybe,” Clover muses, careful as he drags the razor against the curve of Qrow’s jaw, fingers glancing the shaven skin to check his progress, “But you’re the one who let me put it there.”

He looks into Qrow’s eyes, gaze sharp and a little knowing. Qrow swallows, breaking eye contact. 

“Almost done,” Clover murmurs, wiping the blade clean again, “Tilt your head further back for me.”

Qrow does and Clover crowds even more into his space, breath bouncing against his mouth and nose. He presses a thumb to Qrow’s lips, pulling it to stretch his cupid’s bow.

This close, the intensity and focus in Clover’s eyes hits him at full force. He can see the flecks of amber within the greens of his iris, how Clover’s eyes narrow when he deliberately runs the blade under his nose, holding his breath. Qrow tries not to shiver.

Clover pulls back, gingerly moves Qrow’s head in different angles to assess his work. Clover nods in satisfaction.

“I’m going to put aftershave on you now,” he says, turning around to grab the aforementioned bottle. 

“Fine by me, lucky charm,” Qrow responds lazily, feeling content as he sluggishly flaps his hand, “Knock yourself out.”

Clover chuckles, shaking his head as he pours the liquid into his palm. When he puts his hands back on his face, Qrow closes his eyes, sighing as Clover rubs his jaw. The only sound in the room is their slow breaths.

He opens his eyes when Clover’s hands slow, his fingers caressing Qrow’s skin in an almost reverent way. Clover softly thumbs the area right below his mouth, eyes on his lips. 

“How do I look?” Qrow says, smile unsteady as he tries to break up the tension.

But, Clover just raises his gaze to look into Qrow’s eyes, his expression heated. The pupils of his eyes are wide. Qrow sharply inhales.

“Like the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Clover says, all fire and grit and _rapture_ , sliding his thumb across Qrow’s bottom lip.

And Qrow trembles, grabbing onto Clover’s wrist like a lifeline, like an anchor. Tries to ground himself into reality.

“ _Clover_ ,” Qrow breathes, eyelids fluttering half-closed and Clover groans, pressing closer.

“I think.... I think that’s the first time you’ve said my name,” Clover says, breathless as he stares at him, eyes wide and dark, “I really _really_ like it.”

He dips forward, tentatively brushes his nose against Qrow’s. And Qrow leans into it, breath shaky as he tilts his head.

“Qrow,” Clover whispers, a little desperate, a little wild, so close that Qrow can nearly taste the word, “ _Qrow_ , can I-“

An alarm suddenly blares and they’re breaking apart, looking up at the ceiling. Their lips and eyebrows draw low as the room is painted in flashing red lights.

This can only mean one thing and one thing only: 

_Grimm_.

“Let’s go,” Clover says, tone grave and Qrow nods, already halfway to the door.

They don’t look back as they leave the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Had a lot of fun with this one! Pampering Qrow is my favorite thing


End file.
